


injustice deliciously squared

by apricots



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aoba Johsai Wins AU, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricots/pseuds/apricots
Summary: An overview of six years of Iwaizumi and Oikawa's rivalry with Ushijima. Happy Christmas/birthday.





	injustice deliciously squared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moraith/gifts).



Their first year, they only played in practice games. That's how it was for most first-years; you had to prove you were serious first. They didn't mind. Kitagawa Daiichi was a for-real competitive school. One of the best in the _whole prefecture,_ and no amount of dry "oh wow, the second-best boy's volleyball team in Miyagi"s from Oikawa's older sister could dampen their enthusiasm. This wasn't like kid classes at community centers or tossing the ball back and forth for fun. This was _real._

It was hard, of course, but it was fun. Oikawa was energized by the gruelling practices. He found them enchanting. Romantic, almost. Volleyball wasn't a game any more; it was a sport. They were _athletes._ When Iwaizumi's palms were sore and reddened, when Oikawa's forearms were bruised, when they were too tired to jump any more, it was just cold hard proof that this was something _real_ and _important._

 

The cheer section for Shiratorizawa was one of the loudest Oikawa had heard all year. Their players were some of the tallest. Their reputation preceded them, of course; Shiratorizawa's reputation always set the mood of every game they played. Everyone was already tense before warmups even started. Even in the stands, the tension was palpable. Their cheering section was full of gritted teeth and nervous glances at the other team, which it wasn't usually.

Oikawa braced his palms on the railing and leaned over the side of the balcony, far enough that Iwaizumi grabbed a fistful of his shirt and muttered, "Don't fall."

"I'm not gonna fall," Oikawa said, but he put his feet back on the ground anyway. "I just don't want to miss anything."

When the match started, the entire world shrank. Nothing else mattered. Oikawa watched with hungry intensity, eyes wide, blinking and speaking as little as possible. He gripped the railing so hard Iwaizumi thought it might bend, as though this would the moment Oikawa awakened to dormant superpowers he'd had in him all along.

One of the spikers was particularly good. When Ushijima spiked the ball, everything seemed to collapse before him. Blocks and receives were useless. Their defense crumbled. They looked _bad_ , and Ushijima looked like a superhuman. In the second set, someone somewhere behind Iwaizumi and Oikawa mentioned that Ushijima was a first-year, and the disbelieving tone laced with despair seemed to cast a spell on the entire cheering section. Tension rose. The temperature dropped. Jaws tightened. Shoulders stiffened.

Oikawa, though, was immune. When Iwaizumi's grip on the railing tightened and he felt a twinge of anxiety start to creep in-- _a first-year and he's already that good, imagine what he'll be like next year, I can't measure up to something like that_ \-- Oikawa tore his gaze away from the match for the first time. His eyes flicked to Iwaizumi's white-knuckled grip, then to the tense anxious look on his face.

"He's not that good," Oikawa said, as though this should have been obvious all along. "He's just left-handed. The blockers are jumping as though he's right-handed, and all our receives are anticipating a totally different angle than the one he's actually hitting at. That's why we're losing."

The fact that Oikawa didn't intend it to be a display of confidence was part of what made the moment so striking to Iwaizumi. Oikawa wasn't being brash or self-important, nor was he trying to cheer Iwaizumi up with some fakey-fake bullshit; he was just stating facts. _He's just left-handed._

When Iwaizumi let Oikawa reframe his observations and looked again, it was like he was watching a completely different game. It was true. Ushijima wasn't exceptionally tall or exceptionally fast or exceptionally strong. His aim wasn't anything special, either. He made plenty of mistakes. More than the regulars on their team, and more than the older members of Shiratorizawa's team; he was still a first year, after all. He was just _good,_ and he was left-handed, and their team wasn't managing to properly compensate for the shifted angles that left-handedness entailed.

Kitagawa Daiichi lost their second set. The third-years cried; not all at once, and not all in public, but all of them cried. There was a particular sort of shameful grief that sprang from losing so badly to a first-year.

 

They didn't beat Ushijima in their second year. Not even one set. They were good, but not good enough. Ushijima was better. Iwaizumi was frustrated. Oikawa was crushed. Ushijima had gotten so much better; taller, stronger, faster. All of the other wins felt irrelevant when they got cut off so harshly.

On their way back to the bus after their loss, both of them were crying. Shoulders hunched, arms sore, zipped up in their team jackets, it was hard to feel like a powerhouse team and not a gaggle of pathetic kids.

"Iwa-chan, it's not _fair,_ " Oikawa mumbled between shaky embarrassing sobs, wiping at the tears stilll streaking down his cheeks. That about summed it up. It wasn't fair.

Iwaizumi gritted his teeth and slapped Oikawa on the back with the hand he wasn't using to wipe away his own tears. "We'll get him next year," he mumbled back, staring straight ahead at the backs of their senpai. "Right?"

Oikawa snuffled and nodded. "Next year," he said, with the grim determination of a soldier preparing to die in combat. He stopped walking, then, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and he tightened his jaw. He stared at the pavement ahead of him, then turned his head to stare at the building they'd just left. The look in his eyes was pure steel; a kind of vicious intent that Iwaizumi thought was a bit _much_ for a middle-schooler. "I can be better than him."

Iwaizumi rubbed at his eyes with both hands and nodded. "I know," he said, because he did know. He blinked some more tears out of his eyes, then screwed up his face and shoved Oikawa. " _We_ can be better than him. Dick."

Oikawa stumbled, then stuck out his tongue at Iwaizumi and ran to catch up with the rest of the team, snapped out of the moment of intensity as easily as if it hadn't happened at all.

 

It was never that easy again. Their third year was when Oikawa went from good to _exceptional_ , propelled onward by a kind of manic obsessive _need_ to win that he channeled into making everyone on the team as good as they possibly could be.

They all thought he'd made them as good as they possibly could be, so when they lost to Shiratorizawa again it felt sharper and heavier than it did before. If that was their best, then they would never win. After the last whistle shrieked through the gym and their fate was sealed, for real, a cloud of despair descended over the whole team. Exhaustion and emotional whiplash hunched everyone's shoulders. They took one set-- one whole set-- and for a minute they really thought they could do this. It seemed so painfully possible.

After they shook hands, lined up, bowed, Iwaizumi, along with everyone else, looked to Oikawa. Partially to see if he was okay, but also for a kind of guidance. Iwaizumi knew it wasn't entirely fair, and he _was_ worried, but he also wasn't sure if he'd be able to fix it if this broke him. If Oikawa got swallowed up, Iwaizumi would surely follow.

Oikawa gave Iwaizumi a bitter smile, wiping at his watering eyes, and Iwaizumi smiled back. He grabbed onto that one set with both hands, clutched it as hard as he clutched his _best setter_ award. That was the part that mattered.

"If we can take one set, we can take two," Oikawa said. "If we can take two, then we can sweep them."

 

Volleyball season never really ended for them. After that last loss, Oikawa didn't stop training. He worked harder and withdrew into himself with an intensity Iwaizumi found unnerving. He had his earbuds in almost constantly and slept even less than he usually did. He spent more time working out. For a month, he barely spoke to anyone, even Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi carried on as he always had; he yelled at Oikawa to go to bed, pulled his earbuds out of his ears when he had to actually pay attention to the world around him, punched him awake if he fell asleep in class.

"Iwa-chan, let's go to the gym," Oikawa said one day in December. It was cold and grey, with a threat of snow later in the day. They were walking to school together, like they always did. Iwaizumi had his face hidden in a scarf and his hands jammed into his coat pockets. Oikawa had left the house without a scarf or hat or gloves and looking at him made Iwaizumi feel cold on his behalf, even though Oikawa didn't seem bothered at all. Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a sidelong look, and Oikawa added, "After school."

"Sure," Iwaizumi said, because saying no to something like that was never an option.

The gym was cold and empty. Even with pants and a sweatshirt on, it still felt chilly; Iwaizumi rubbed his hands together and stared expectantly at Oikawa. Oikawa spun a volleyball between his hands, staring thoughtfully at the net in silence for a while.

"Iwa-chan," he said eventually. He turned and gave Iwaizumi a serious piercing look. "You're going to learn to spike with your left hand."

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest and slouched to one side, skeptical. "Am I?"

"Yeah. We need to be able to practice blocking and receiving left-handed spikes, and it'd be fun to have a secret weapon," Oikawa said matter-of-factly. "Left-handed people become ambidextrous all the time with practice, so we're just going to do the opposite with you. It's the off-season, so we have time to work on it."

Iwaizumi stared Oikawa down. It seemed like a stupid idea, but it also seemed... obvious, somehow. Oikawa seemed perfectly confident that this would work, and that it would help. It seemed right. Not everyone on a team could be as in their head as Oikawa during a game; they would need practice with a left-handed spiker. A _good_ left-handed spiker. If they were able to practice, then they could be prepared. Ushijima couldn't shatter their defense like he had the last three years. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, then nodded. "Okay. Sure. Let's do it."

 

It was not in Iwaizumi's nature to grouse. If Oikawa wasn't complaining, then Iwaizumi wouldn't do it either, on principle. Like hell he was ever going to be more of a baby than _that guy._ Besides, not much bothered him enough to make him _want_ to complain. He could take things as they came. That which does not kill you makes you stronger and all that.

Trying to become ambidextrous was a serious test of his patience and his willpower. He practiced every day; every morning he copied down kanji in a notebook with his left hand, brushed his teeth with his left hand, ate breakfast with his left hand, messed around with a grip strength trainer on the walk to school, on and on and on. He felt like an incompetent child, uncoordinated and useless, and he did not improve quickly.

The fact that it was winter and the gym was cold did not do much to improve his mood. He and Oikawa practiced attempts at spiking every couple of days. It never went very well. Oikawa was treating him like a teammate-- molding his mannerisms and language to suit Iwaizumi's mood, soothing and encouraging and lecturing when it was exactly appropriate-- and that wasn't helping the constant sense of aggravation either. It wasn't the kind of thing that was easy to call out, either; it wasn't _fake,_ exactly, and Oikawa was trying to be helpful, and it was never even insincere.

Iwaizumi swung, clumsily, and missed, and the ball went sailing into the wall. He landed heavily on his feet, grinding his teeth, and hissed, "Shit."

Oikawa smiled and picked up another ball. "Don't mind, don't mind! You're doing great, Iwa-chan. Just concentrate on practicing proper form," he said. "You're getting there!"

"I'm _not,_ " Iwaizumi snapped back at him, shaking out his hand. He turned sharply on his heel, skin prickling, and took a few short huffy breaths that did nothing at all to make him feel less frustrated. He dragged his hands over his face and said, again, "I'm not. This was a nice thought, but it's not going to work out. I can't do it. It's a good idea, and you should find someone else--"

A volleyball slammed into his hands, which thankfully prevented the throw from breaking his nose. It stung, though, and it startled him. He yelped and yanked his hands away from his face. "The hell was that, Shittykawa?!"

Oikawa put one hand on his hip and gave Iwaizumi one of the most imperious looks he was capable of, looking down his nose at him like some kind of old-timey nobleman looking at a peasant. "Don't be stupid," he said flatly. Then, without further ado, he marched over to Iwaizumi's duffel bag and started rummaging around in it.

Iwaizumi lunged across the gym, yelling, "Hey!" and snatched his bag away, scowling. "What the _hell_ \--"

"Iwa-chan, shut up," Oikawa said impatiently. He held up Iwaizumi's notebook, then flipped through it like this wasn't an incredibly rude thing to do. Iwaizumi dropped his bag on the floor and crosses his arms over his chest and gave Oikawa the most withering scowl he could muster. As was typical, Oikawa ignored him and tore out two pages from Iwaizumi's notebook-- one from near the front, and the last page he wrote anything on. He dropped the notebook on Iwaizumi's bag, then insistently held up the two pieces of paper. "Look at these."

"Destruction of property is a crime," Iwaizumi muttered.

"Iwa-chan, _look_ ," Oikawa insisted, and so Iwaizumi looked.

The first page was the first time he'd attempted to write anything with his left hand, done right after he got home from the gym that day in December. It was past clumsy; it was completely illegible, the characters wobbly and too large and crooked and scribbly. It looked like something a toddler might write if he was pretending to know how to write kanji. The second was from that morning; wobbly, but legible. The improvement was almost startlingly stark.

Oikawa pressed the pieces of paper to Iwaizumi's chest, eyes boring into Iwaizumi's. "You're getting better," he said firmly. "We can do this."

 

By the time they got to the gym at Aoba Johsai, Iwaizumi could spike a ball with his left hand. It took Oikawa less than a week to cement his spot on the team as the starting setter. They hit the ground running, and they didn't stop.

Oikawa wasn't the captain (yet), and as a first year he wasn't exactly in a position to dictate how people spent their time at practice. He tried asking the captain to dedicate time to training against Iwaizumi's left-handed spikes, but the captain said it was stupid to spend such a disproportionate amount of time preparing to beat one guy.

"We might have to lose to him this year, Iwa-chan," Oikawa muttered grimly, after that conversation. He tossed Iwaizumi another ball, perfect and easy to hit, and Iwaizumi slammed his left hand into it. Out of bounds. "They'll understand once they've gone up against him."

At their first match against Shiratorizawa, Oikawa leered at Ushijima through the net. "Ushiwaka-chan. You got taller again. How unsightly," he said, tone too tense and mean to be cheery. "Are you ready to lose?"

Ushijima gave him a flat look, then glanced around at the rest of the team. "We won't lose," he said, as though this was a foregone conclusion. He settled his eyes back on Oikawa's face. "Aoba Johsai is a dead end for you, Oikawa. This team can't beat Shiratorizawa."

"Screw you," Iwaizumi muttered, and Oikawa was so surprised by the hostility that all the tension Ushijima's shitty attitude had built up in his shoulders dissipated.

After they lost the first set, Oikawa cheerfully gave everyone his usual laundry list of suggestions for improvement, unfazed. "Ushiwaka-chan is left-handed, so you'll have to use your heads and think before you move!"

The second set was close. Oikawa started them off with a lead with his serves, and Shiratorizawa trailed after them the whole set; they could catch up, but they couldn't quite break away. Oikawa kept his eyes on Ushijima, wide and focused, and through the noise and movement and data he kept in his head all at once he could see Ushijima start to _freak out._

24-24, then 25-24, Aoba Johsai's favor. Iwaizumi was out of breath; everyone was, sweating and focused and tired. Ushijima and Oikawa were both up front, eye to eye. Shiratorizawa's other freaky first-year, Tendo, who'd only just been swapped in a few points ago, leered down at Iwaizumi and then muttered something to Ushijima.

Set point was a setter dump. Even Iwaizumi thought the toss was going to him; Oikawa called out his usual, "Iwa-chan!" and angled his hands and Iwaizumi jumped along with Tendo and Ushijima--

and Oikawa touched the ball, dumped it just over the net, and it hit the floor. It was effortless. Three of the players on the back line lunged for it, but they weren't fast enough. A huge toothy grin spread over Oikawa's face as soon as his fingers touched the ball; sometimes you know when the point is yours. When the whistle blew, Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi and they _screamed._

Ushijima was wide-eyed when he landed; he gave the scoreboard an uncomprehending look, then blinked at Oikawa, befuddled.

They lost the third set, but it hardly seemed to matter; that one set that they took from Ushijima in middle school wasn't a fluke, it was the beginning of a trend. They didn't get to Nationals that year, but the look in Oikawa's eyes when he stared at Ushijima said it before his mouth did: "It's only a matter of time."

 

It was a matter of time and all that time entailed-- work, mostly. Victory was possible, they only needed to seize it.

The decision to make Oikawa team captain their second year of high school was unanimous. It was hardly even a question. _Captain_ was as much Oikawa's position as _setter_ was, and there was no better choice.

They dedicated practice time to Iwaizumi's left-handed spikes, they got faster and taller and stronger, and they _blasted_ through tournaments and practice games. With Oikawa leading the charge, they were invincible. Everything that needed to be remembered and accounted for, Oikawa would keep in his head; there was no one he wouldn't beat, if he tried.

Shiratorizawa lost. They weren't expecting to lose, but they _did_.

The team's shouting was drowned out by the thunderous applause and screaming from their cheer section. When he was done screaming, Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi into a too-tight hug, saying "we did it, we did it, we did it," over and over again like he couldn't stop himself, interrupted only by his own breathless disbelieving laughter.

They were both flushed and sweaty, only on their feet because of the adrenaline coursing through their veins. Iwaizumi grabbed the back of Oikawa's head and pressed their foreheads together, swaying a little on his feet. Oikawa grinned at him and tangled his hands in Iwaizumi's hair. "We did it," Iwaizumi echoed.

Oikawa laughed and headbutted him, then whirled around to grin wolfishly at Ushijima. The genius spiker was still standing where he was when the whistle blew, staring at his hands. "I told you we'd win! Ushi _baka!_ Suck it!!" Oikawa hollered. Iwaizumi dragged him off to the end of the court before he got the whole team in trouble for unsportsmanlike behavior.

That semifinal was the deciding match. Shiratorizawa was the real obstacle; no matter who won the other semifinal, they weren't going to be that good. They won the Inter-High, and then they got right back to work. This time, they weren't just preparing for the next tournament; they were preparing for Nationals.

 

At the next tournament, Ushijima was more determined. They'd kicked the hornet's nest when they bet him at the Inter-High. There was a look in his eyes that made the hair on the back of even Iwaizumi's neck stand up, but the look Oikawa gave him in return was even more frightening. A vicious smile, eyes burning with manic intensity, that looked downright murderous. "Oi. Shittykawa," Iwaizumi muttered.

"We're going to make him cry this time, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said, and cracked his knuckles.

"What are you, a gangster? We've got other games to play before we go up against Ushijima. Focus up."

The problem, of course, wasn't Oikawa's _lack_ of focus, but where he was putting it, but Iwaizumi's scolding did what it was supposed to do anyway. Oikawa tore his eyes off Ushijima and looked back at him, smile easing to something less vampiric. "Yes, yes, coach Iwaizumi," he said, and he got to work actually getting ready.

The team carried themselves with a new kind of confidence; Oikawa was good at spreading that kind of thing around. They were champions, and they carried themselves like it. For some teams, defending a title came with a certain amount of psychological pressure; students at powerhouse schools were scared of losing, of letting down their coach, of soiling their school's reputation. Aoba Johsai didn't have that problem. They got nervous, because everyone got nervous, but those nerves never stuck.

After all, they had Oikawa, the best setter in the prefecture (best in the country, as only they knew but everyone else was sure to find out soon), the one who took down the undefeated champion. When nerves started to creep in before a match, right before anyone got really freaked, was when Oikawa would say-- every time-- "I believe in you."

It wasn't a threat, exactly, though it wasn't _not_ a threat. It was a reminder of everything they'd done up to that point; that victory was possible for them, as long as they played the way Oikawa knew they could. He would always be on top of his game. If they lost, it wouldn't be because they weren't good enough; it would be because they didn't play as well as they should've. Oikawa had absolute confidence in their ability as a team to face up to any challenge that came their way. To fail his belief wouldn't just disappoint him; it would mean that they had wasted their time and done less than their best and disappointed themselves, which was far worse.

They didn't lose. Shiratorizawa didn't, either-- even Dateko's iron wall couldn't hold up to Ushijima, though they made a good effort-- and they were the last two teams standing at the end of the tournament.

They won the first set, lost the second, won the third, lost the fourth 28-30. Both teams were worn out by the start of the fifth set; Ushijima should have been on the verge of fainting, with the amount Shiratorizawa leaned on him, but of course he was fine. Oikawa, out of sheer spite, decided he was going to look fine as well, though Iwaizumi could tell he wasn't. He gave him a muttered, "Don't pass out," for encouragement, and Oikawa made a face at him.

They won that match, but at a cost. Oikawa fell during the last set and had to limp off the court, leaning heavily on Yahaba's shoulder. Iwaizumi almost followed them on instinct, jerking towards the side of the court, but Oikawa looked over his shoulder and held up his fist and smiled at him. "Finish them off, Iwa-chan!" he called, and so Iwaizumi stayed.

It was so much harder without Oikawa, but they won. Oikawa didn't come back. Iwaizumi bolted for the medical office as soon as he was allowed, to find Oikawa sulking, eyes reddened and watery.

They had time before Nationals, but not enough. Oikawa didn't heal fast enough, and he couldn't play. They didn't get far without him; they only won one game, and Oikawa sat on the bench grinding his teeth and screaming in the back of his throat the whole time.

Iwaizumi heard that Oikawa's knee could have healed better if Oikawa could have kept himself from training for longer. That would never be an option for him, though. "I'm like a shark!" Oikawa insisted, while Iwaizumi pressed an icepack to his knee. "If I stop playing volleyball, I'll _die!_ "

"You have to take care of yourself, you prick," Iwaizumi muttered.

They fought about Oikawa's training schedule for months; when Iwaizumi finally got him to agree to take at least one day off a week, Oikawa immediately started pretending like it'd been his idea all along. "Over-training can do more harm than good, you know!" he said, like Iwaizumi hadn't had to spend enormous amounts of time and energy convincing him of exactly that.

 

Their last year in high school was Kageyama's first. It was hard for even Iwaizumi not to feel claustrophobic somehow. They were sprinting to keep up with Ushijima, and Kageyama was right on their heels gaining on them with terrifying speed.

Karasuno hadn't been a contender for years. They weren't on anyone's radar. Oikawa was furious; Iwaizumi was mostly baffled. They weren't anybody, besides the libero. Nishinoya had always been one to watch out for, but the rest of them? Nothing special. The first-years pulled the team further than seemed possible. It certainly wasn't _fair._

They lost to Shiratorizara at the Interhigh. It was their turn, Iwaizumi reasoned-- some days you're not at your best-- and they still had the spring tournament. It wouldn't be their last game in high school.

Three years, and Iwaizumi had never used a left-handed spike in a match. Occasionally over the years Oikawa had made offhand reference to maybe using it someday, as a secret weapon, if they needed something flashy and special, but they'd never needed anything like that. (Not like Karasuno, who were all flash.)

 

Karasuno was good, despite not having any right to be good. Losing the first set to them felt like a slap in the face; an _insult,_ more than a defeat. They took it back, though. They were always going to take it back.

Momentum was key in volleyball. Rhythm. Flow. If your opponent broke your streak-- blocked a shot you thought was for sure-- pulled the momentum of the match to their favor-- that could take the whole game.

Oikawa _leaped_ off the court, and even though Iwaizumi was miles away there was no one else that ball was going to. It was a perfect toss, and for just a second they locked eyes. _If not now, when?_

Karasuno were ready to receive, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter how incredible their libero was, or how much they'd practiced, because the toss was a perfect toss for Iwaizumi's left hand.

He'd never hit one of these in a match. He'd never hit one unexpectedly before, either; as much as he'd practiced, it was still unnatural and a little awkward. It was a weird gimmick, not even close to a sure thing, but Oikawa had no doubt at all that Iwaizumi would hit whatever he threw at him.

So he hit it. The ball against his hand, the crack against the floor-- all of it was perfect, and even better was the beat before Karasuno processed what had happened. Iwaizumi and Oikawa screamed _"YEAH!!_ " at the same time, and they got a moment of excited chattering on their side of the net. The team was electrified; energy coursed through the entire team.

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa's arm and grinned toothily at him. "You okay?" he asked breathlessly.

Oikawa ruffled his hair and grinned right back. "You hit it!"

"Of course I hit it, asshole," he said, shoving him companionably. His hand was still tingling; he flexed his fingers and looked through the net at the other side of the court. Oikawa inhaled to ask the same question he always asked-- _how was the_ _toss_ \-- and before he could say it, Iwaizumi gave him a hard look. "It was perfect."

Oikawa exhaled a laugh. "Okay. Let's get 'em." He waved his hands at the rest of the team. "That's enough celebrating, you guys, we haven't won yet!" he called. He waved everyone back to their places, smiling broadly. "One more, right?"

That's all it took. One point, then another, then another, until they won.

 

Oikawa slept over at Iwaizumi's house that night. Iwaizumi insisted; he had to make sure Oikawa slept and didn't just stay up all night gloating or staring at videos of Ushijima or whatever. " _Did you see him crying?_ " Oikawa asked for the fifteenth time, still somehow bursting with glee as much as the first time. He shook Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Iwa-chan. _Iwa-chan._ Did you see him _crying?_ "

Iwaizumi had seen him crying. Everyone saw Tobio Kageyama crying. "Uh-huh," Iwaizumi said wearily. "I saw."

"Do you think Ushiwaka-chan is gonna cry when we beat him, too? He didn't last time, but maybe this time? Combo! Combo!" Oikawa pumped his fists excitedly in the air. "Let's go all the way, Iwa-chan! Leave a trail of tears and destruction in our wake! We're gonna go to nationals and make so many people cry!!"

Iwaizumi rubbed at his temples. "You're the worst," he muttered. He rolled over in bed and pulled a pillow over his head. "Go to sleep. If we lose because you're sleep-deprived, I'll kick your ass."

"We're not gonna lose," Oikawa said, radiating smug energy from his futon on the floor. Iwaizumi could feel it through his blankets. "We're the best in Japan, after all."

"Yeah, I know."


End file.
